cocoon created by the stove vent and sizzling fish. “I’ve been in Barry Walker’s art supplies store a few times.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Deborah put the fish on the table and pulled a bowl of creamy white sauce from the refrigerator. She handed each of us a cloth napkin and sat down to eat. I copied their motions as they wordlessly layered the fish, veggies, and sauce on the tortilla. As soon as Deborah took a bite, I rolled mine up and dug in.
“This is fantastic,” I said. And it was. The crunch of the veggies, the light taste of the fish, and the savory sauce combined to make a delicious meal.
“It’s hard to get fresh vegetables here in the winter,” Deborah said.
I nodded, my mouth full. It’s only December. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
“Phil likes a proper lunch,” Deborah added. Phil Bennett showed none of his wife’s friendly manner. He’d answered my questions fully yet formally. Deborah was warmer. Anxious to be helpful, she dredged up every detail she could from that night, and frequently punctuated her conversation with remarks like “That poor man” and “It’s awful that his family may be looking for him, not knowing what’s happened.” As lunch went on, I found myself less distracted by her face.
As to the gift certificate, it had come in the mail, just as the Caswells’ had. “I was surprised by how soon the expiration date was,” Phil said, “but I figured you wanted people to try out the restaurant sooner than later because it was new.” A business rationale made sense to a former Big Pharma executive like Phil.
“Do you still have the envelope?” I asked. “Was there anything else in it?”
Phil knit his eyebrows together over his spectacles. “You mean you didn’t send it?”
“I haven’t done any sort of promotion like that.”
Behind the mask, the color drained from Deborah’s face. “That’s unsettling.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Phil reassured her. He turned to me. “I think the envelope and insert might be in the wastebasket in my study. It’s on the way out. I’ll walk you. We’ve spent enough time on this.”
Phil had dismissed me as if I were a bothersome employee. I didn’t like it, but I had to admit I’d gotten what I came for.
They got off their bar stools and stood side by side. Despite Phil’s spare tire, they were both tall and straight-backed, with a regal bearing. If the Caswells were pixies, the Bennetts reminded me of a pair of Afghan hounds.
I said good-bye to Deborah, and Phil led me to his study, which was off the front hall. The room was as formal and as lovely as the rest of the house. He fished a number ten envelope out of the trash and handed it to me, then walked me to the door.
“Julia, I understand your concern about the man who died in your restaurant, but I have to ask you not to come bothering Deborah again. She’s not as strong as she looks. She’s suffered from panic attacks for years. We have them under control with medication, but stress is the worst thing for her.”
I said, “Of course, I understand,” as he firmly guided me out the front door and closed it behind me.
Chapter 12
I sat in the Caprice while I examined the envelope Phil had given me and the card I found inside it. The envelope was handwritten, addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.” No return address. The stamp said, “Pre-sorted First Class,” which I knew from doing commercial mailings for the Snowden Family Clambake Company required no postmark. Whether the person who had mailed the gift certificates used the pre-sorted service to disguise the mailing location or simply to keep up the ruse of it being a part of a mass mailing, I couldn’t know.
The insert was an envelope-sized card with a description of the restaurant and our limited, ever-changing menu, along with an address, hours, phone number, and e-mail. I had designed these cards and always included them when I mailed out gift
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Deborah put the fish on the table and pulled a bowl of creamy white sauce from the refrigerator. She handed each of us a cloth napkin and sat down to eat. I copied their motions as they wordlessly layered the fish, veggies, and sauce on the tortilla. As soon as Deborah took a bite, I rolled mine up and dug in.
“This is fantastic,” I said. And it was. The crunch of the veggies, the light taste of the fish, and the savory sauce combined to make a delicious meal.
“It’s hard to get fresh vegetables here in the winter,” Deborah said.
I nodded, my mouth full. It’s only December. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
“Phil likes a proper lunch,” Deborah added. Phil Bennett showed none of his wife’s friendly manner. He’d answered my questions fully yet formally. Deborah was warmer. Anxious to be helpful, she dredged up every detail she could from that night, and frequently punctuated her conversation with remarks like “That poor man” and “It’s awful that his family may be looking for him, not knowing what’s happened.” As lunch went on, I found myself less distracted by her face.
As to the gift certificate, it had come in the mail, just as the Caswells’ had. “I was surprised by how soon the expiration date was,” Phil said, “but I figured you wanted people to try out the restaurant sooner than later because it was new.” A business rationale made sense to a former Big Pharma executive like Phil.
“Do you still have the envelope?” I asked. “Was there anything else in it?”
Phil knit his eyebrows together over his spectacles. “You mean you didn’t send it?”
“I haven’t done any sort of promotion like that.”
Behind the mask, the color drained from Deborah’s face. “That’s unsettling.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Phil reassured her. He turned to me. “I think the envelope and insert might be in the wastebasket in my study. It’s on the way out. I’ll walk you. We’ve spent enough time on this.”
Phil had dismissed me as if I were a bothersome employee. I didn’t like it, but I had to admit I’d gotten what I came for.
They got off their bar stools and stood side by side. Despite Phil’s spare tire, they were both tall and straight-backed, with a regal bearing. If the Caswells were pixies, the Bennetts reminded me of a pair of Afghan hounds.
I said good-bye to Deborah, and Phil led me to his study, which was off the front hall. The room was as formal and as lovely as the rest of the house. He fished a number ten envelope out of the trash and handed it to me, then walked me to the door.
“Julia, I understand your concern about the man who died in your restaurant, but I have to ask you not to come bothering Deborah again. She’s not as strong as she looks. She’s suffered from panic attacks for years. We have them under control with medication, but stress is the worst thing for her.”
I said, “Of course, I understand,” as he firmly guided me out the front door and closed it behind me.
Chapter 12
I sat in the Caprice while I examined the envelope Phil had given me and the card I found inside it. The envelope was handwritten, addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.” No return address. The stamp said, “Pre-sorted First Class,” which I knew from doing commercial mailings for the Snowden Family Clambake Company required no postmark. Whether the person who had mailed the gift certificates used the pre-sorted service to disguise the mailing location or simply to keep up the ruse of it being a part of a mass mailing, I couldn’t know.
The insert was an envelope-sized card with a description of the restaurant and our limited, ever-changing menu, along with an address, hours, phone number, and e-mail. I had designed these cards and always included them when I mailed out gift
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